


Consider the Lillies

by LotusFlair



Series: Magnus Season 5 Codas [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Avatars, Discussions of Morality, Flowers, Good and Evil, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode MAG 171: The Gardener, Spoilers, artistic endeavors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: Jon stares in awe of the Boneturner's Garden. Jon wonders if one can appreciate something that is both horrific and beautiful. Jon ponders what it means to do good in a world defined by fear.Jon doesn't know if he cares one way or the other.Takes place following the events of MAG 171, "The Gardener"
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Magnus Season 5 Codas [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763854
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	Consider the Lillies

They found a hill overlooking the garden. Jon sat in the eerily verdant grass and watched, taking in the magnificence of what Jared Hopworth had created. The screams were mostly muffled, but he could see the carefully cultivated flowers swaying in their suspended agony. There was no difference between bones and stems, petals and flesh, pollen and blood. They waited expectantly for the gardener to return, faces etched in pain and fear with no relief in sight despite his sudden absence. They would continue to wait and, somehow, the garden would remain in all its horrific splendor.

Perhaps another avatar of the Flesh would continue the work. It was hard to predict whether or not there were other avatars willing to put in the time and effort to fashion such an eclectic array of flora. If anything, it was a testament to Jared's passion and, oddly enough, love of the human body that kept the garden in such pristine condition. Anyone who bothered to take control of this domain would only be building upon an exquisitely terrifying foundation. The soil was already tilled, the seeds ready for planting. All anyone had to do was follow the instructions, the example already set, and the garden would easily thrive.

Despite his hatred, Jon couldn't deny the overt dichotomy of a man like Jared Hopworth. A bully and a comically literal meathead, the garden, for all of its curated misery, was still beautiful. How a thing like Jared could craft something so awful and yet so awe inspiring only intensified Jon's anger, though he couldn't be sure of where to direct those emotions. He'd exercised his revenge, wiped him- was he even a man in the end? - from existence and yet all he could do was stare at the garden with something akin to envy in his heart. The guilt followed shortly after, a heavy wave of it crashing up against the thrum of satisfying fear ever-beating within his body.

He thought of Martin's question, _Are we doing good?_

Could anything they were doing be defined as good given where they were? In a world dominated by fear, they were cosmic bugs snuffing out a few, slightly bigger, cosmic bugs. It did nothing to stop the swarm. Smiting the Not-Sasha, Jude Perry, and Jared Hopworth but sparing Oliver Banks and Arthur Nolan held no more significance than what Jon assigned to their death or continuing existence. And in their salvation or expiration nothing changed within their domains.

No one saved, no one freed, just performative revenge for the Eye to consume.

The one shred of power he had in this hell he'd created and it was meaningless.

He felt Martin's presence by his side as his partner sat down. There was only a fraction of space between them, but it felt like a chasm. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what could be said without insulting or frightening the man he loved. Martin was trying his best to navigate a world he still didn't quite understand while Jon tried to navigate a relationship he was ill-prepared for on the best of days. They were both lost and scared for different reasons, none of which managed to sync up at the right time. Jon could only respect Martin's boundaries and hope for the best, but with each domain they passed through he couldn't help wondering how much of Martin he was losing along with himself.

"Do you like flowers?" Martin asked.

"Huh? Oh, um, I'm not opposed to them," Jon said. Martin chuckled as Jon shrugged helplessly. "What? I never cared about them one way or the other. Georgie liked them. Daffodils, I think. What about you?"

"Oh...always had a soft spot for peonies. I got them for my mum when I could," he said. A pained smile crossed his face as the memory surfaced. "I...don't think she liked them. 'Least not from me."

"My grandmother had a rose garden," Jon said. "She'd spend hours tending to it. All of her friends were part of a social club dedicated to them. I think the only time she was happy was when she was in the garden. As far away from me as possible."

It was hard to fathom sometimes how deep the damage went for the two of them. Here they were, gazing at a botanical nightmare and it was the memory of regular flowers causing them the most pain. Or maybe it was an easier escape clinging to past misfortunes and broken bonds. It's what guided their actions even now.

"I do get it," Martin said eventually, his voice a gentle balm against Jon's ears.

"What?" Jon asked, equally as gentle.

"The...beauty of it, I guess? Sometimes a thing is so awful your mind can't comprehend it - doesn't want to engage with it - so your initial reaction is to be impressed," Martin said. "I feel like that's been a lot of this journey."

"I'm sorry if I--"

"No, Jon, I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Martin sighed. "I know you're struggling. I see it on your face. You enjoy the fear because you're an avatar, but you hate yourself for enjoying it. I wish..."

"Wish what?"

Martin sighed again. "I wish it was simpler, ya know? Good and evil. Heroes and villains. But we don't live in that world anymore."

"I don't think we ever did," Jon said. He felt Martin take his hand, their fingers intertwined. "I know I wasn't an evil man before joining the Institute, but I don't know if I was a good man either. Just stubborn, mostly."

"You had your moments," Martin said, nudging Jon slightly in the shoulder. "You still have them."

"Is that enough, though?" Jon asked. "Am I the sum total of my actions or am I a spectre of deeds constantly overridden by subsequent actions?"

"Did you take up philosophy while I was working for Peter?" Martin asked. Jon let out a quiet snort of laughter.

"No," Jon said, "I just had a lot of time to think while under house arrest. Obviously, it didn't get me anywhere other than where I was already headed."

"But we're here now," Martin said, squeezing his hand. "Everything else is behind us. We just have to focus on what good we can do now."

"There is no good to be done, Martin," Jon said. He couldn't fight back the edge in his words. "It's just shades of evil that have no bearing on the world unless we change it back."

"Jon--"

"I don't just feel everyone's fear, Martin," he said. "I feel how much joy and satisfaction the other avatars take from this world. A world I gave to them. A world where Jude Perry could revel in her sadism. A world where Jared Hopworth could build a garden of unearthly delights. A world where I get to observe their creativity like watching a chef prepare a succulent meal."

"Jon...wait, creativity?" Martin said. Jon extended his free hand, presenting the garden as evidence.

"You said you could appreciate the beauty," Jon said. "This was all Jared's. A Flesh avatar tending to his garden with such care and enthusiasm that I..."

He stopped himself, shaking his head to erase the words from his mind. He couldn't complete that sentence. He couldn't let that thought escape his mouth. Then it would be real and Martin would know the kind of monster he traveled with. Curiosity, however, was an affliction few had the ability to fight off and Martin was no different.

"What, Jon?"

"...that I'm jealous of."

There was a long pause between them. Jon didn't dare look at Martin for fear of the judgment that was surely waiting for him. He heard the long exhale as Martin contemplated his words and waited for his chastisement. Instead, he felt a hand on his cheek guiding him to face his partner, his love. Martin's eyes were gentle and inviting. There was fear, obviously, but he could see the effort Martin was making to keep himself centered. He was trying to give Jon the space and empathy he needed to talk.

"Explain it to me," Martin said. Their hands remained together, which Martin squeezed encouragingly. Jon's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but he appreciated the gesture, nonetheless.

"I - I don't think I have a creative bone in my body," he started. The unfortunate wording struck him as quickly as they fled his mouth. "Sorry, I-I didn't mean--"

"I know," Martin said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I've always observed other people being creative. I read but never wrote anything unless it was a paper in school," Jon explained. "I'd look at a painting and move on without assessment. I'd listen to music and never really thought about the composition or the lyrics - unless it was to read them. I just watch from a distance, taking in all the information, but never..."

"Never engaging with it," Martin finished. Jon nodded.

"You write poetry, Martin, and that's wonderful. It's lovely, but I...it's like I said. I didn't get it," he confessed. "I still don't, if I'm being honest, but you love it so much and I want to understand that but it never feels like I'm fully there for the experience. I'm detached, distant."

"Watching," Martin said.

"Before the Change, before I died...the other avatars I met were so certain of their place. So passionate about their gods in ways I couldn't be," Jon continued. "Their actions were reprehensible and unimaginably cruel, but they found joy in their status. They wanted to express themselves through their devotion and I read about it through the archives' statements. I saw it firsthand when I met them. But I have none of my own."

He looked away again, his eyes drawn once again to the mortal garden.

"The only thing I've ever created is this new world, but I take no pleasure in it besides the terrible satisfaction of fear from the Ceaseless Watcher," Jon said. "I have no passion for what lies ahead and yet Jared Hopworth created a garden! A horrible landscape of agony, but it was his and he loved it! The Stranger wrote a goddam poem for no one's amusement but its own and all I could do was recite the words as written because the voice wasn't really mine. It never has been."

"Jon, look at me," Martin said. Jon faced him again, his eyes alight with some desperate need for reassurance. Martin cupped his cheek with his free hand, rubbing his thumb across the pock marked skin and stubble. "I'm glad you're not like them. And it's okay that you don't process art or writing or music like other people. What do other people know except what works for them?!"

Jon shook his head. "Martin, I--"

"So what if you don't like poetry? It doesn't matter," Martin said. He leaned in closer, pressing their foreheads together. "The other avatars have their passion but they also lost anything that made them human."

"I'm not entirely human either," Jon said.

"You're more human than you think. Jude was wax and Jared was just muscle and bone in the approximation of a body, but Jon...you're still you," Martin said. He leaned back, taking in the full picture of Jon's face. He didn't look convinced. "I know what we're doing isn't good in the traditional sense. I get that. And I know you're scared and sad and ashamed, but I'd rather you felt like that than the alternative. Because at least you're still feeling something that isn't like them."

Jon was quiet for a moment before he leaned in and kissed Martin.

"I was wrong," Jon said when they parted.

"About what?" Martin asked. He kissed Martin again, deeper this time as he practically crawled into his lap. There was no pause to breathe, just an endless moment of joy granted to them without interruption or disturbance. Even the garden's wailing perennials seemed further off then they had before. When they finally pulled apart again, Jon stayed put in Martin's embrace, content to remain in the moment.

"There is one thing I'm passionate about," he whispered. "One person, really."

Martin chuckled, taking in Jon's face again. It was more relaxed this time, some of the anxiety eased away. After a few moments of scrutiny, Martin finally came to a simple, yet stubborn solution.

"I think you'd like violets."


End file.
